Only for You: A TSOM Honeymoon Story
by augiesannie
Summary: "No one tells you about . . . about what really brings a husband and wife together." While on honeymoon in Paris, Maria's life changes in ways she could never have imagined. She owns up to keeping some secrets, and Georg makes some surprising confessions as well.
1. Chapter 1: Maria's Secret Friend

Chapter 1: Maria's Secret Friend

Maria awoke to the sound of rain beating against the windows. She'd been dreaming she was a girl again, wandering through a foggy green mountain meadow. But she knew, instantly, that she wasn't waking up in the cramped loft in her uncle's cabin, or in her dormitory at Nonnberg. She was far too warm and comfortable in a vast bed, surrounded by crisp sheets and snuggled under a feather-light duvet.

_No_, she thought, stretching luxuriously and wiggling her toes, _I am Maria von Trapp. I am a Baroness_, she thought, stifling a giggle. _I am a wife and mother. I am on my honeymoon in Paris, in a beautiful suite in an elegant hotel_. She glanced over at the sleeping form next to her. Although his back was to her, his even breathing and solid form were reassuringly real. After months of innocent daydreaming about her Captain – and more shameful dreams at night – Maria could still hardly believe everything that had happened to her in just a few short months. She still asked herself, frequently, _Can this be happening to me_?

As if seeking further reassurance, she slid her hand, with its slim gold ring, out from under the covers and smiled at it, satisfied. She looked around the bedroom for a moment; it was barely lit by a small lamp left burning in the dressing room, but she could make out the dark wood and heavy draperies, the elegant furnishings clustered around a small fireplace, her nightclothes pooled on the floor next to the bed where he had impatiently tossed them hours before.

Maria had a little game she liked the play with herself. It had started during the long weeks of their engagement, when she began pretending that she could have a little chat, whenever she wished, with her former self, that she could magically show Maria-the-postulant what the future held for her.

She was embarrassed to have made herself the kind of invisible friend that even Gretl had outgrown, but she had no mother or sisters, and although she still made occasional trips back to the Abbey, she could hardly confide in the girls who had been her fellow postulants. And Maria needed to confide in _someone_ as she tried to master the strange new world of the Austrian aristocracy.

Somehow, it bolstered Maria's confidence to explain her strange new life to Maria-the-postulant. _See, this is the way you ask the cook to change the luncheon menu for the children, to make it more nourishing. You ask her politely, but firmly, too, without seeking her approval, just as Georg recommended._

And then there were the lessons she did not tell Georg about, but saved only for her private chats with Maria-the-postulant: _This is the way you stand your ground with a condescending salesperson in a dress shop when you are shopping for your trousseau. This is how you hold your head high in church when you know the neighbors are gossiping, making something dirty out of the love your Captain has for you._

Lying next to her sleeping husband, Maria reviewed the honeymoon so far with Maria-the-postulant. _This is how it feels to live with a man,_ she explained. _To watch him shave, to know that he is wearing the brown tie because you said you favored it. To have him encourage you to order vichyssoise because he knows you will like it, and to share a smile about the stuffy waiter without needing to exchange a word. And this is what it is like to know that any time you wish, you can take his hand, you can put your arms around him, you can kiss him. _

Maria had not actually had much opportunity to do those last few things right up until her wedding day – she and Georg were rarely left alone for very long. When they _were _alone, his passionate kisses, and the lovely things he whispered to her, left feeling only slightly bashful, hungry for more of his touch, curious about what came next, and skeptical about the ominous warnings whispered by the women in Georg's social circles about the ordeal facing her on their wedding night. If married love was so unpleasant, she'd reasoned, why was everyone so intent on preventing them from experiencing it prematurely?

And in the end, it had been so easy. Georg was a patient teacher, and _I am an eager pupil_, she acknowledged, feeling her cheeks redden, closing her eyes as though too shy to confront her own thoughts.

_People gave me a lot of advice when they learned I was going to be married,_ she thought. _They told me how to run a household, what to wear, how to be a mother to stepchildren. But_, she confided in Maria the postulant, now that she was beginning to understand it herself, _no one can tell you about . . . about what really brings a husband and wife together. How he knows just the right way to touch you, the words to whisper in your ear, how to coax your body to do things you never imagined . . . and how quickly you learn where he is most sensitive, the way his breathing changes at the moment when there is no going back . . . _

"Maria?"

His voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Georg, awake now, and propped on his elbow, looking at her curiously. "Whatever are you thinking, Fraulein?"

"Nothing," she said, embarrassed. Trying to change the subject, she said, brightly, "I'm hungry! Shall we order breakfast?"

"Maria, darling, it is four o'clock in the morning, and moreover, you know that you are powerless to resist an order from me, and I am _ordering_ you to explain to me that most intriguing little grin I discovered on your lovely face when I awoke. It looked like you were having quite a conversation with someone."

She was unable to refuse him. "Very well, then," she confessed. "It's just a little game I play sometimes with myself, I talk to the old Maria, I mean, the one that I was at Nonnberg before . . . before I came to the villa, I mean the first time. Oooh, there has been so much new in my life, so much to learn, and no one I can really talk to about it, I suppose I just got in the habit of talking to someone who would, oh, I don't know . . . "

Georg looked grave. "Maria," he said, "you know, don't you, that you can tell me _anything_? I do not want you to feel, ever, that you cannot show your truest self to me. After all, you were wise enough to see right through me when we met, and brave enough to call me on my behavior. I will never forget that, and I will also never forget that it was I who dragged you off your path on life, and into a life full of noisy children, quarreling servants, and a decaying aristocracy. The least I can do is to hear your troubles."

"Moreover, _Fraulein_," he went on, a dangerous twinkle in his eye, "are you sure it's quite _proper_ for you to be confiding in a postulant, even an imaginary one? Surely, no good can come of her learning the secrets of married life. And I believe there secrets you should not be so eager to share!"

"Like what?" she smiled, brushing an errant lock of hair from his eyes.

"That you eat not one, but _two_ croissants for breakfast every day?" he teased. She rolled her eyes.

"That you are already a wonderful mother to seven children" – she beamed – "and that I hope, before very long, to make you a mother to even more?" She ducked her head, suddenly shy, but he went on, lightening the mood.

Georg went on. "Have you told your friend about the way you dispatched that amorous fellow in our opera box last week? The one who could not take his eyes off of you in your evening dress?" His finger traced where the neckline of that dress had been, until she slapped it away,

"You know perfectly well that we were alone in that box, Georg. The only fellow misbehaving was you!"

His eyes darkened. "And," he went on, his voice still careless and lazy, but belied by the intensity of his gaze and the burning touch of his fingers trailing along her arm, ". . . surely you would not tell your friend that your husband_ just cannot keep his hands off of you_?" He moved closer to her, never taking his eyes from hers.

Maria frowned for a moment. Perhaps she could confide in him, after all, tell him about what was _really _bothering her, ask him for reassurance? She opened her mouth to say something, but then he was looming over her, kissing her frown away one moment, whispering into her ear the next. She felt herself being pulled under, and then, for a long time, she thought of nothing at all.

**A/N: This story benefited hugely from ideas, inspiration and support by the Facebook TSOM Fan Fiction group (PM me if you want to know more), and from the many lovely stories on this site. I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it. Future chapters of this story are not going to be any more explicit than this one was, but there will be even more adult situations and themes, so that the rating may change. So if you like what you're reading, you might want to follow it – otherwise the rest of the story will be harder to find! **


	2. Chapter 2: Insatiable

Chapter 2: Insatiable

Maria watched her husband as he went off to dress, whistling cheerfully. How handsome he was! Although she had been in his arms only minutes before, her heart skipped a beat, as if she were seeing him across a crowded room for the first time, and hoping simply for the chance to make his acquaintance. She wondered if she would ever be able to take him for granted, if there would be a time when simply being in his presence would not make her head spin.

Maria not only had a secret friend. She had a secret worry, too, one she pushed away when it threatened to rise to the surface. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore her fear: _there is something wrong with me. I'm no more cut out to be wife to an aristocrat than I was meant to be a nun._

Every day, she studied the faces of the fine ladies who crowded the museums, restaurants and shops of Paris, and she was fairly sure that none of them were thinking about . . . what she could not _stop_ thinking about, about what was happening, with shocking frequency and astonishing variety, between her and her husband behind the closed doors to their suite.

_Unbidden and unwelcome, her uncle's face rose up before her, twisted with rage. She was back in his car, that rainy night so many years ago, his harsh words ringing in her ears. "Tramp. Slut. Whore." _

_Earlier that evening she'd fought the old man off, biting and kicking, and now she fought him off with words. "I don't know what those words mean, but I know you are not supposed to do . . . things to me. I will tell everyone what you tried to do," she'd warned. _

_He snorted. "They won't believe you. They know what your mother was. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." He pulled up in front of the Abbey, leaned across her and opened the door. "Get out."_

"_What?"_

"_Get out. I'm through with you. You're too good for me? See if the sisters want you."_

Had her uncle been right, after all? Would the scars left by a miserable childhood never fade?

That magical night in the gazebo, she had tried to warn her Captain – "You yourself have told me dozens of times that I can't even behave like a proper _governess_ – what kind of _Baroness_ would I be?" - but he had overpowered her doubts with his words, his kisses, with the very force of his personality. Georg's gentle encouragement kept her worries at bay throughout their engagement. She tried her best to fit into his world – studying the people around her, lowering her voice, slowing her pace, paying more attention to her wardrobe, curbing her tendency to say whatever came into her head – while treasuring his reassurance that she need change nothing at all.

"What have you done with my governess?" he teased her after an especially successful outing to a concert in Salzburg where she'd charmed a visiting Swedish nobleman. "I hope I haven't seen the last of her!" She basked in his approval, and the love of his children. The day she married him, Maria truly believed what Georg had told her: that, despite the difference in their backgrounds, she would be _exactly_ the Baroness he wanted.

Then came her honeymoon, and Maria learned that of the seven deadly sins, there was one she could not conquer.

From the very beginning, from that first magical night in the gazebo, she had _loved_ everything that had happened between them during their few stolen moments alone. But looking back, she now understood how protected she'd been from her own desires – by seven children who were always underfoot, a half-dozen chaperones, and Georg's gallant, if grim, determination to keep things between them under control.

During their engagement, she had been amused by the advice that seemed to follow her everywhere: _You'll get used to it, dear, don't worry. After a while, he'll stop bothering you. Just close your eyes and picture something pleasant. _She'd repeated this last bit to Georg, giggling, the morning after their first night together. "She didn't tell me what to do if _you_ were the something pleasant I wanted to conjure up – keep my eyes open or closed?" He had laughed along with her, but that night, his whispered "Eyes open, Maria" completely melted her.

In short, Maria trusted her Captain completely, loved him with all of her heart, and so went eagerly into his arms from their first night together. But given what she knew about physical love between husband and wife – the mechanics she'd figured out growing up on a farm, the whispered misinformation shared in the schoolyard and that came her way throughout their engagement, the quiet advice of the Reverend Mother the night before the wedding _– nothing_ prepared her how much she would start to crave his touch. Even Maria's vivid imagination could never have invented half of what he was eager to show her, patiently, tenderly, and occasionally gleefully.

As their honeymoon went on, she found that she was thinking about their lovemaking more and more often, throughout every concert, in every museum gallery, over every meal. She blushed when he interrupted her thoughts to point out a beautiful sunset or handsome sculpture, afraid he could read her mind**. **_Here he is wanting to share Paris with me, and all I can think of is the next time we will be together._

The rain continued to lash at the windows, not quite drowning out the sound of Georg's low whistle floating out from the dressing room. She tried to talk some sense into herself – having had no one else to rely on for so many years, she'd always been able to give herself a little pep talk when her confidence flagged. _ Georg doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong at all – _she felt her cheeks redden again – _he is obviously delighted about what is happening between us. _

Her new husband was _extremely _passionate – she understood more and more, every day, how much he'd been restraining himself, holding back, during their engagement and their first nights together. But that seemed more _normal_, somehow, for a man of the world, a dashing naval hero. _But who has ever heard of a hot-blooded baroness?_ Her thoughts flew back to Baroness Schrader for a moment , in all of her icy elegance. Maria hadn't had the courage to ask him if the couple had been intimate – after all, they had both been married before – but she could not see how it could be true: _she didn't look like she's lost control even once in her life, whereas I cannot control myself for even a day._

And if Maria thought about it very long, it _did_ start to seem like Georg had been taken aback, if delighted nonetheless, by his bride's eagerness. Their first night together, he had taken her face in his hands, so lovingly, speaking reassuringly, telling her not to be afraid. Had she seen, or had she just imagined, the tiniest flicker of surprise crossing his face, when she had thrown her arms around him, without a moment's hesitation?

Only the day before, she'd awakened before dawn, breathless, from the kind of vivid dream that had haunted her all summer – shameful dreams about her Captain she had barely understood. But now she knew all too well how those dreams were meant to end. Frantic with desire, she reached for him. He awoke, instantly alert and on guard, but when he read her face, he relaxed and drew her to him. "My, my, Fraulein! What have we here?" he chuckled into her hair.

She shook her head, and slid out of bed, trying to chase his playful voice away. But her worries followed her as she wandered aimlessly around the spacious bedroom, away from the enormous bed, past the fireplace with its cozy seating. She inspected herself in the large mirror that hung over the dresser. _My life has changed so much. Inside, I feel like the same person I've always been, but I wonder if I look different to the rest of the world? _

Georg seemed, in some ways, to be two different people as well. When they were alone, he was entirely focused on her, relaxed, and utterly uninhibited – he even had a bit of a coarse, earthy side, the legacy of many years at sea, that Maria secretly found roguishly appealing. In public, he was still the same formal, erudite man who had intimidated and fascinated her from the moment she'd first met him. He rarely touched her or showed any sign of intimacy when they were in public – _and it's_ _just as well, heaven knows how I'd respond, I'd probably embarrass both of us. _She tried, desperately, to remain the lady she'd tried to become during their engagement, but she was too distracted, somehow. _What would he think of me if he knew that the only thing I think about anymore is . . ._

At that moment, Georg appeared, freshly shaven and dressed, his hair damp. Going to the window, he pushed the curtain aside, peering out into the wet, gloomy morning. "Well, my dear, I hope you are not too disappointed, but no more sightseeing for us, not today, anyway. It is cold, and damp. We'll have to amuse ourselves somehow. Let's start with breakfast, and then we will see." And off he went to order room service, still whistling.

A half-hour later, her own bath complete and wrapped in a lacy robe, she joined Georg at the breakfast table in the sitting room. "My goodness!" she said. "Omelets. Croissants. Fruit. _Crepes_!" She laughed, "Did you think you were ordering breakfast for the children as well?"

"I thought you might be hungry after what happened at dinner last night," he smiled, passing her the milk for her coffee.

She paused, confused. Dinner? They had decided to stay in, to dine in the hotel restaurant. They had ordered duck, and soup, and a bottle of wine, but she couldn't actually remember the food . . .

He winked. "You so bewitched me with your blue eyes, my love, that I'm afraid I let you drag me upstairs before the food came. You were a veritable force of nature, Fraulein!"

While his eyes sparkled and tone was entirely affectionate, Maria was mortified. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her uncle's harsh voice: "_Breeding will out_." Pushing back from the table, she ran into the bedroom, the door banging shut behind her. She threw herself onto the bed and burst into tears.

**A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews and follows on Chapter 1. I forgot to thank one of the Facebook TSOM Fan Fiction group members, Mary Ann 741, for the cover image for this story, and I thank that group for their support. I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it. After some deliberation, I am leaving this story rating alone for now – will see where it goes. Please leave me even a brief review – suggestions always welcome. **


	3. Chapter 3: Only for You

Chapter 3 Only For You

"Maria?"

She had buried her head beneath an enormous feather pillow, and so barely heard the gentle knock at the door.

"Darling. I apologize. I meant only to tease you, but I went too far. Let me come in and talk to you."

She peeked out from beneath her pillow long enough to see Georg cautiously poke his head into the room. "You have every right to be angry at me, Maria."

Maria burrowed back into the pillow. Her voice muffled, she conceded, "I'm not angry at you. I'm -. ashamed. And . . . maybe a little frightened."

She heard him move across the room, but he was silent for so long that her curiosity got the better of her. She pushed the pillow aside and sat up to find him staring into the fireplace. "I had no idea . . ." he whispered, as though to himself. "I should have known. I should have . . ."

"You should have what?"

Georg turned toward her, studied her for a moment. "Sometimes I forget . . . you have been through a great deal in the last few months, Maria. And all this – well, I should have understood it would be too much. Too much for someone coming from . . . ," he broke off, his face guilt-stricken.

She shook her head, confused. "Too much? What is too much?"

"Me. You and me. _Us._ Together . Er - " he hesitated, at an uncharacteristic loss for words, "I mean. I have demanded too much of you. I should have taken it much more slowly."

"_What?"_ Maria hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. She gestured wildly around the vast expense of their enormous bed. "You think this is all _too much_ for me?"

"Well, you said you were frightened. Ashamed . After all, you are just a few months out of the Abbey, and perhaps . . . "

"That is _not_ the problem," she said, dryly, some corner of her mind finding humor in the situation. "You are _not_ too much for me. You haven't done anything wrong, you have been _wonderful_, better than I deserve . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her lap.

"Deserve? I cannot give you _half_ of what you deserve." Georg approached the bed then, sitting carefully on the edge, reaching over to take her hand. He smiled tenderly. "Then if it's not that, tell me what upset you so. I did not expect quite so many tears from a woman I had just recently ravished."

She smiled weakly, but still, she would not raise her head to look at him. "I don't think I can explain it. You cannot possibly understand . . ."

"Do you love me, Maria? Do you trust me? I know that you do, because in a manner of weeks, you walked away from the only life you'd ever wanted, into instant motherhood, into an uncertain future with an irritable sea captain twenty years your senior. I know that you do, because the first night we were here, you came to me without hesitation. Did I let you down, Maria?" She shook her head, the tiniest sign of agreement. "Then why won't you trust me now?"

She sighed deeply. The truth was, she had nowhere else to turn, no one else to trust with her troubles, except him. She reached absentmindedly for the hem of her robe, intending to wipe her soggy face with it as though it were a kitchen apron.

"Hold on," Georg smiled, "those Belgian lace makers probably don't design bridal lingerie to be able to absorb quite so many tears. At least I hope not. Try this," offering her one of his large, soft white handkerchiefs.

"All right," Maria said, shakily. "I'll try to explain. It's just that . . ." Her voice trailed off. She realized she would never have the courage to speak her mind if she had to look him in the eye, and so she rose, shakily, clutching his handkerchief, and curled up in an armchair that faced the fireplace. She tucked her feet beneath her and her chin into her chest, as though she could will herself to shrink into nothingness, and began, hesitantly.

"I don't think you understand what it was like for me … _before_. I had all of these feelings for you, feelings I wasn't supposed to have. And what _really _bothered me wasn't even that I was _having_ all those sinful thoughts, it was that there was no hope that -."

The ghost of a smile crossed her face, as she remembered the magical evening when she learned that he loved her, when she unburdened herself of her secret love for him. But in a moment's time, her expression turned haunted once more. She closed her eyes, remembering, twisting his handkerchief in her hands.

"I would think about you - your voice, your eyes, your hands, the scar on your chin, your smile, the way you . . . _everything! _And the more I tried to push those thoughts away, push _you_ away, the more you _invaded_ me. It was bad enough during the day, but then it started -" she licked her lips, nervously . . . "at night, when I was sleeping. It was like a sickness, an obsession, and I prayed to be rid of it. I knew it was wrong, I knew I should leave, but I kept thinking, well, it's only a few more weeks, I don't want to leave the children . . ."

She heard the gentle smile in his question, "You prayed to be rid of me, and now you are stuck with me for life, is that the problem?"

"Oh, _no_!" She shook her head emphatically, although she still avoided his eyes. "But I thought that being married would be, I don't know - calmer? Tranquil. _Peaceful_. I thought I understood, you know, what it would be like, I mean, the - er – the _physical _part. But I really didn't understand it at all. Everyone kept telling me about how unpleasant it would be, and instead, it seems to have made me even _more _obsessed. I should have known that I would not be _normal_. Nothing prepared me for how much I, well . ."

Maria swallowed, and her voice dropped to a whisper, "It is . . . _still_ like a sickness. I cannot stop thinking about - " her eyes slid toward the bed, her speech still modest even if her thoughts were not.

Her voice strengthened again, the words spilling out, but with a bitter edge: "You are such an honorable man, so accomplished, so kind and noble and _everything,_ and you have given me so much, such a beautiful life, and this trip to _Paris_, and all the time, I am just counting the moments until the next time we . . . I cannot get my mind out of the _gutter_. Where I was born. And where I belong."

No sooner had the last word had left her mouth, than Georg was on his feet, taking her hands, pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. Hurt and embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but he held her close, his tone adamant.

"You belong _here," _he insisted. "Have you forgotten that you were in my heart, and the hearts of my _– our_ - children, long before we shared a bed? You forget what our lives were like before you came to us! And" – he paused to take a calming breath – "Maria, there is _nothing_ to be ashamed of, nothing the least bit wicked about what is happening between us! You are my wife and I am your - "

She shook her head, pushing against his chest until, finally, he released her, and she began to pace the room.

"On Tuesday, you took me to that beautiful restaurant, remember? The one with the paintings?" He nodded, curious. "You were telling me about India, I think?"

"It was China, I think, but no matter," he chuckled. "My war stories do tend to bear a remarkable similarity to each other, I must admit. Sometimes I get them confused myself."

"But you see, that's just the point! I was trying to listen to you, really, Georg, I am no end of fascinated by these stories, and how I loved hearing them back when we . . before we . . . but do you know what I was thinking about for that entire dinner?"

"I don't know, although I did notice that you barely touched your food, you did not even notice when I filched an oyster from your plate," he mused. "I thought you were under the weather, missing an opportunity to defend your territory like that."

"I was _fine_." She stopped pacing and faced him. "Do you want to know the truth? It was Tuesday, correct? Well, you remember Monday night, don't you?" she demanded, cheeks turning crimson. It had been another night when, as he liked to tease her, he had _expanded her horizons_. Considerably. He grinned wickedly, clearly savoring the memory of the moment when her shock turned to delight.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, her outrage overcoming her embarrassment. "And that's what I thought about for that entire dinner! I might as well have eaten sawdust! This is my first trip to Paris, I am dining divinely with a dangerously handsome sea captain, and all I could think of was, well . . . _Monday night_."

Maria felt better, somehow, saying it out loud, and reassured that his face held nothing but affection and curiosity and only a little bit of amusement.

Georg scratched his ear - his rare, endearing, gesture of uncertainty. "Where to start, where to start . . .," he murmured, shaking his head. She let him lead her to the couch by the fireplace, where they sat for a moment in expectant silence, her hands in his.

"Well," he said finally , clearing his throat. "I can certainly sympathize with you. That kind of obsession - it _does _feel like a sickness. I know." A half-smile crossed his face. "_You_ really don't understand, Maria, do you? You have no idea what hell you put me through for weeks, for months. All summer. You, dripping wet in that dress, all the more alluring because you were completely unaware that every inch, every curve, every . . . You, creeping around my home at all hours in that baggy nightdress that only made it more tempting to consider what lay underneath. "

His gaze strayed to the neckline of her robe, lingering, as though his eyes alone could remove it, until he shook himself back to the present and continued.

"Your angelic voice – I could hear it in my dreams, but not singing folk songs, or madrigals, oh, no, but crying out, begging me to do things to you that - No, my dear, I'm afraid that when it comes to obsession, you will have to play second to my first. And let us not forget that you are merely obsessed with your _husband_. I was obsessed with deflowering a cloistered nun in training from the formidable Nonnberg Abbey!"

Maria managed a faint giggle. She found this confession deeply thrilling, yet all at once comforting. "But you're a _man_, Georg, a man of the world. You were a well-known rake before you married – don't bother to deny it, I've heard about it from half of Salzburg – and you have _seven_ children. You're _supposed_ to be that way. But a lady – a true lady - doesn't . . ."

"Maria." He sighed. "What is happening between us is natural and normal. Sacred, even. That's what making love _is, _although you'd best keep that secret from our daughters for a few more years! I don't know where you got the idea that you're not supposed to . . .

Georg grimaced. "Well, actually, I _do_ know where you got it. A decade behind those stone walls, and a few months of all those simpering matrons warning you about the horrors of the marital bed," he shook his head, ruefully. "It's a miracle they didn't wring every drop of passion out of you before it was too late."

"Are you telling me," she demanded, incredulous, "that it is like this for _everyone_? Even all those – er – _aristocrats_?" She tried to imagine the condescending men and women who had stared her down, coldly, at every turn throughout her engagement, tried to picture their passionate embraces, but the image was so comically ugly that she pushed it away.

"Well, I don't know about everyone, darling. I've only just gotten started on my second marriage. And I can't vouch for the neighbors, no. But this – this is what makes being married so much fun! I can assure you that I make _all_ the von Trapp Baronesses very happy," Georg grinned, smugly. Her eyes widened in surprise as he went on.

"I know what you think, Maria. I know you think that Agathe was a perfect lady in every respect, and she _was_ that . . . but we were also very happy together. _Very,_" he repeated, nodding meaningfully toward the rumpled bed. "Yet another reason I cherished her. And why I could not quite bring myself to remarry, I suppose. To find this again - I am the luckiest man on earth."

Maria pressed on. "But you don't look as – as _distracted_ as I feel. You are so – er - dignified! Enjoying the culture, the scenery, discussing the latest headlines. You are . . ." she grimaced, "the noble Captain. The Baron. And I am still just a lovesick governess."

"You are not _just_ anything," he reminded her, and then, impishly, "If it makes you feel any better, the noble Captain considered taking you no farther than the Hotel Sacher and keeping you locked up there for a month while he had his way with you. You wouldn't have needed much of a trousseau for that. But it _has_ been a long time since I had someone to enjoy Paris with, and I thought it would make you happy to see the city – even if we only looked out the window once in a while. Plus, we'd have to eat in any case, and the food here is divine. So . . . Paris it was."

Georg took her hand in his, slowly tracing a line across her palm, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Don't believe everything you see, Maria. I spend most of my time thinking about what's underneath that trousseau. And how to get you out of it. And once I've accomplished that, what we're going to do together that you cannot possibly even have imagined yet. Disguising that, feigning indifference - it's partly the way I was raised, I suppose. And trained. Never let your guard down, you know."

At least partly reassured, her spirits reviving, it was Maria's turn to grin. "I believe I've caught you with your guard down a time or two."

He rolled his eyes. "_That_ is the point, love. It's part of the thrill. What is between us, only for us. Only for _you_." He gently caressed her cheek. "Like a secret it's too risky to share. Makes it . . .", his eyes locked with hers, "more dangerous. Do you see?"

She nodded, slowly. "Did you know it would be this way between us?" she pushed on, her cheeks flaming. It seemed to Maria that the room had grown quite warm, despite the cool, gloomy day. There was no question, now, of how they would while away the hours trapped indoors.

"Of course," he smirked, his eyes glittering, "there was never any question."

Later that day, it cleared, and they went walking along the river. There was just one more worry she had to share.

"It's one thing when we're _here,_ Georg. Alone, together, in Paris_,_" she said wistfully. "But what will it be like when we go home? It can't possibly be . . ."

"You are asking me if passion can survive a houseful of children, servants, days full of work and school and social obligations?"

"Yes," she said, sighing. "I know how exhausted the seven of them left me at the end of every day all summer, and I cannot imagine having the strength for . . ."

"It's easy," he said, sending a confident grin her way. "There's a simple trick really. Practice. Lots of practice."

**A/N: thanks again for the lovely reviews and follows. Special thanks to the Facebook TSOM Fan Fiction group. More chapters coming! I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it.**


	4. Chapter 4: Recollection

Chapter 4: Recollection

As the days went by, Maria's thoughts still returned frequently to their most intimate moments, but now, she knew she was not alone. At the oddest times – as the conductor dropped his baton for the opening notes of a symphony, when the maître d' bowed them to a table, as they stopped to admire a sidewalk artist's sketches – he would catch her eye and wink casually. Her eyes would drop to her lap, and her cheeks turned rosy, but she was secretly delighted.

It became like a game to her, a grown-up version of dress-up or pretend – in which she played the part of the demure baroness, alongside her distinguished husband, the two of them rarely touching in public, their conversation warm but with a certain restraint. She took a secret pleasure in the widening gap between the dignified façade they presented to the world and the reckless abandon, the complete loss of control, that distinguished their private times together.

There was one golden afternoon she would remember the rest of her life. They were ending their day, as they usually did, at a small café in a quiet square near their hotel. She watched a squirrel emerge from a fall into the stone fountain, shaking the water from his coat and chattering furiously at the other squirrels, and she turned to Georg, smiling, ready to reminisce about the rowboat incident. But the words died on her lips when her eyes met his burning gaze.

Not a word passed between them, nor did it need to - she knew what would happen next. Her heart pounding, her skin already prickling with desire, she watched as he dropped a few bills on the table and motioned her out of her seat. His hand barely touching her back, he guided her through the streets to their hotel; her eyes never left the pavement, fearing that passers-by would read on her face the nature of their errand, and trusting him to get them safely to their destination. He smoothly deflected the lift boy: "My wife is not well, I'll take her upstairs." His lips were on her neck the moment the lift door closed behind them.

Later, after night had fallen, she lay, utterly relaxed, and smiled as he ran an idle finger down her back.

"Excuse me madam, but what have you done with my governess?"

Maria laughed. "Don' t you think it is time to lay the governess fancy to rest? It's quite indecent, you know, Jane Eyre notwithstanding."

"My baroness, then. In any event, you were torturing me all day in that dress, did you know that? I simply could not bear it a moment longer."

She looked at him, puzzled. "That dress? It's perfectly modest, you know I don't like to wear things that are too . . ."

"Ah, my dear, that's just the point. That's why I sent you to Madame Dubel for your trousseau. She is the master of making everything even more alluring by covering it up. I told you, no? Hidden is better."

She rolled her eyes. "Yet another of your many unsung talents, I suppose? I had no idea you were such a fashion expert."

The days flew by happily. They visited museums and churches, heard music of every sort, drove into the countryside, shopped for gifts for the children, walked in the Luxembourg Gardens. One day, thinking that she might be tired of being surrounded by a language she could not speak, that she might resent relying on him to translate her every request, he took her to a foreign language bookshop for some reading material in their native language.

But she surprised him by choosing two children's books in English. "I'm going to start with these, and learn to read English, Georg, I really am. I've read about it – there are so many interesting American authors."

They talked endlessly. He regaled her with tales of his travels around the world, the sights, the people. And he told her, in detail, the story of each child's birth, as though passing along a treasure he knew she would cherish forever.

One night, they ventured into a smoky basement café where patrons huddled over tiny tables in the dark while an exotic chanteuse and a musical trio were Maria's introduction to jazz. "Did you like it?" Georg asked her, afterward.

"Well," she pondered a moment. "It's rather like what Kurt said the first time he had an oyster. 'I'm not sure if I like it, but I'm glad I tried it.'"

Maria had a great deal to share with him as well. In the one, harsh conversation he had with Agathe's mother, when he broke the news of his engagement to Maria, the Baroness Whitehead had sneered – among many other things – "and what kind of conversation do you think you'll have with her, Georg, after the – ah _- honeymoon_ is over?"

But the truth was, that Georg was much more interested in what Maria had to say than the gossipy chatter of his peers in the Austrian aristocracy. She was extremely well read. She matched him poet for poet, at least in German. She had less formal musical training but a much better ear, he had to admit.

And while she might never before have traveled farther than Vienna, her childhood troubles had left her blessed with a remarkable imagination. She saw a story in everything around her. They spent entire afternoons seated at their café while she entertained him, weaving stories about the people passing by. He only hoped that no one around them spoke German, for fear that they would be able to understand her dangerously spot-on impressions of them.

One afternoon, she stopped in mid-story, distracted by a particularly enticing slice of tarte tatin the waiter placed in front of her.

"Is that all?" he asked, disappointed. " Keep going! Please!"

"There was a time, was there not, _Captain_," Maria teased, "when you complained _bitterly_ about my tendency to chatter on about everything! And now you want me to _keep_ talking? Of course, back then, I was terrified of you. I'm afraid you have lost your power over me, at least when you are competing with dessert. Sorry." She returned to her plate.

"Do you know," he chuckled, opening his newspaper and glancing it for confirmation, "I have lost track of the days entirely, but it's six months to the day, I think, since we first laid eyes on each other. I think I fell in love with you that very first night at the dinner table, when you sat on that ridiculous pine cone."

She grimaced. "The only thing that's ridiculous about that, Georg, is your version of events. You are _completely _rewriting history. As I recall, you barked at me nearly every day for weeks thereafter, not to mention firing me once. That's hardly the behavior of a man in love. I might just as well try to convince you that I fell in love with you when you blew that silly whistle!"

"Well," he defended himself, "Perhaps it was not exactly love at first sight, but from the very beginning, I _was_ impressed by how you stuck up for them. And I thought it promising that you weren't the least bit afraid of me – I hoped that meant you'd be able to handle _them_, too. If nothing else, I knew things were going to turn out differently with you."

"And when I came back from Vienna," – he shot her a gaze that made her blush – "well, I've already told you how utterly tempting you were. I'm not sure how I resisted you for as long as I did."

They smiled fondly at each other before he challenged her: "So then how _did_ it start for you? And don't tell me it was the whistle." He signaled the waiter for another cup of coffee.

"Well – you made a terrible first impression, of course, Georg, we don't have to talk about _that_ anymore. But while you were in Vienna, the children's stories convinced me that there was more to you than I'd seen the first day. They _worshipped_ you! So I _was_ curious. And when you returned – well, I thought that a man who would be open-minded enough to consider the ranting of an insubordinate governess, who would apologize and try to set things right – I suppose that's when I started to – er – _admire_ you."

"You _admired_ me?" he raised an eyebrow. "How very virtuous of you!"

" Well, all right, I _adored_ you," she confessed. "And almost immediately, I felt guilty about it. Of course, I tried to tell myself it was just some kind of schoolgirl crush."

Maria shook her head. "What was I _ thinking_? Did I really think I was going to be able to put the genie back in the bottle, to take my vows, after dancing in your arms? I couldn't really admit to loving you, you know, until Reverend Mother forced me to. That's what made it so hard when . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Oh, my love," he said, regretfully. "I will never forgive myself for causing you even those few hours of pain. I was completely besotted with you, of course, but I took you at your word that you intended to return to the Abbey. Although judging by the way your eyes followed me everywhere, and the positively heated looks you gave me all summer . . ."

"Heated looks?" She batted at his arm, playfully. " The way _you_ looked at _me _when we danced together, I felt as though I was standing there in my knickers! You knew perfectly well that I had a hopeless crush on you."

"I did indeed," Georg replied, making a mocking little bow in her direction. " But I was not certain that my advances would be welcome, darling, not even when you came back."

"You were such a _mystery," _Maria chided him. Even _I _ knew there was _something_ between us after that dance – and yet five minutes later, you treated me so . . ."

"Coldly," he admitted. "I was, er, strategizing."

"Is that what you call it?" she pushed on, "Is that the reason, when I came back, and you came out to the gazebo, to talk to me- is that why you _interrogated_ me? _You_, after all, knew that you were a free man, but I did not! Yet you fired questions at me like I was an enemy combatant. Why had I left? Why had I returned? Did you really think I would confess to being in love with you, when you were planning to marry someone else? "

He squinted at the sky. "You know, when I took my first submarine command, my family thought I'd lost my mind. The von Trapps are sailors, and sailors navigate using the sun, the moon, the stars, even the way the wind feels on our faces. Why would a sailor choose to be underwater, to muffle the very senses that keep him alive? But I loved the challenge of stalking the enemy through the dark waters. I seemed to be able to know exactly where I was; I never felt out of control or lost."

Georg turned to her, a wry smile crossing his face. "But when it came to you – during the ball, and the night you returned – and really, all summer, at every turn, I was lost. Out of my depths, for heaven's sake! And I did not like the loss of control at _all_. I knew I'd made a mess of things, thoroughly and completely. I think I knew, all along, that the engagement would be a mistake, in fact, somehow I just assumed you knew that too. I thought, perhaps, that you had come back for – uh, _to_ me, but I was not sure anymore."

He shook his head, and went on, his tone serious. "And I did not want to – to compromise you. I wanted to be very sure, that I was not pressuring you, or frightening you, that you were coming to me of your own free will. The Baron and the governess – we joke about it, but it is not an – er – entirely honorable situation to be in. I never thought you were a very good fit for the convent, but it was not my place to take it from you."

"Yes, Georg, and it wasn't _my_ place to question your engagement, even though I _did _think it was a horrible mistake. No," Maria went on, firmly, "You should have just said what was on your mind instead of trying to figure out what was going on in mine. I was terrified! I adored you. I could not bear to leave the children. And yet how could I stay and watch you . . ."

There was a long silence, both of them lost of their memories, and then, suddenly, she rose briskly from the table. "I need to stop reliving it. It's all in the past, and that's where it should remain, although it _would_ make a fine romance novel, wouldn't it? Or a play! Whether or not we should have, we did, and here we are. I'm more interested in our future together. Starting with dinner – where are you taking me?"

He smiled, and turned to signal the waiter for the check. They had been sitting for a long time. The sun had dipped behind the buildings around the square, and the air had grown cool. It felt good to stretch her limbs. She spun away from the table in slow circles, and when she returned, he had opened his newspaper and was staring at it, his face grave.

"It's always there, isn't it?" she asked. "What's happening at home. The Anschluss. I feel it too – the dreadful shadow."

He nodded. After a long silence, he asked, abruptly, "You were surprised when I planned such a long honeymoon, weeks and weeks away from the children. Do you know _why _I did that?"

She thought to lighten the mood with a saucy response, but the words died on her lips when his troubled eyes sought hers.

"Maria, on top of everything else you have taken on – me, the children, the household, the aristocracy – there is more you do not know. The situation in Austria is not only a threat to our country, it is a threat to me, personally. To us. They will be looking for me to serve, and they will not take no for an answer. I have done nothing to endear myself to them, starting with my argument with Zeller. I have done everything I can to prepare, but I confess that the future looks bleak."

"My future is not bleak," she said stoutly, "because you are in it."

He nodded his gratitude, but his face remained somber. "This coming year is going to be a challenge unlike any that either of us has ever known. I'm afraid for our country and our family. I will do _whatever_ I must to keep us safe, but I need your help. We may have to flee, if, we can find a safe place to go. . . "

He looked away for a moment, as though the thought was too much to bear, but then his eyes returned to her.

"The time we are spending together here in Paris – the music, the people, the art, the food, and yes, the way we are alone together as well" – he gave her a half-smile – "is the only time we have to build a bond between us that is strong enough to withstand the storm." He sighed. " In normal circumstances, we would have days, weeks, months, to learn about each other. There is so much I want to . . . But you and I? We have, if we are lucky, just this few golden weeks together, before our lives may be torn apart. I only hope that some day I can make it up to you."

Their eyes met as they stood – for a few moments? for an hour? - making silent promises to each other, promises that could survive an uncertain future. Then, wordlessly, she tucked her hand in his arm, and together, they left the square.

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**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews and follows – they really do inspire me. This chapter was a bit of a departure from the rest of the story, and it took me a while to figure it out – I have the TSOM Fan Fiction group on Facebook and Proboards to thank for helping me with it. Maria needed a break from all that angst! And I have always wanted to work out some of my quibbles with the plot (did he really start loving her when she sat on the pine cone? I don't think so), and this was my chance to have Maria and Georg work things out for me. I also enjoyed returning to ideas from my first fanfic, "That September." Future chapters will be more like what you've seen so far. PM me if you'd like to join our group! And – I don't own anything or anyone connected to the Sound of Music, this is all for love.**


	5. Chapter 5: The Baroness

Chapter 5: The Baroness

They were breakfasting in their suite one morning when the bellman knocked. "Quelques lettres pour vous, madame," he offered, and she smiled her thanks before rifling through the pile eagerly, looking for letters from the children.

"Alas, nothing today," Maria sighed, returning to her seat at the breakfast table. "Mostly bills. You really need to stop buying things, darling, it's quite . . Oh, look, Georg, there's a card for you from Count - I can't quite make out the name. Shall I open it?" Deeply engaged in his newspaper, he grunted his assent, and she tore open the envelope.

"Look! I was right! And it must be someone from home, it's in German, thank heavens. He says he's an old friend of yours, he saw us from a distance at the theatre the other night, and tracked us down through the Embassy. He wants to know, would we like to meet for a drink some evening? And how nice! He says he has heard wonderful things about me!"

Georg looked up from his paper, smiling, as she went on.

"He's staying at the Hotel Orleans – that's nearby, isn't it? I must say, it would be lovely to spend an evening speaking German. And it's signed, Count Peter Lehner. How do you know him?"

Had she not spent so many hours learning his face, his voice, his every expression by heart, she might have missed the briefest discomfort in his response. "Ah, yes. Peter. Well, whatever you like, Maria. I for one am perfectly happy to spend every possible moment alone with you. There's enough time for Austrian nobility when we return home."

Maria blinked in surprise. It wasn't like him, to make excuses to avoid doing something she was interested in. During their time in Paris, he had indulged even her most preposterous whims. "Georg," she said, narrowing her eyes. "We can meet him or not. It's up to you. But there is something you are not telling me."

He sighed, and put down his paper. "I've known Peter for years. We were not close friends, but we were at school together, knew many of the same people. And Peter is, well . . . he's Elsa's brother." He took a sip of coffee, watching her face over the rim of his cup.

_Why is it that the mere mention of her name can still upset me?, she_ asked herself, hoping that her face did not betray her distress. But his next words told her that he understood all too well.

"You see? It will be unpleasant for you, and I cannot bear to see you unhappy, Maria. What possible reason would I have to subject you to several hours of veiled insults? I'll send our regrets." He reached across the table, to take the note she still held in her hand, but she pulled it away from him.

"Perhaps," Maria said, feigning a confidence she did not entirely feel, "perhaps the _reason_ is that I should not use you to solve my problems. I have to face my fears. Austria is not that big a country, and I cannot run away from the Baroness forever."

He nodded. "Fair enough. Might I suggest, darling, that you take the first step by not referring to the lady in question as 'the Baroness?' Try 'Elsa.' _You_ are a Baroness now, you know. The _only_ Baroness, at least as far as I am concerned," he added tenderly.

She grinned as he went on. "I should have known that marriage would not make you one bit less stubbornly independent. If you want to spend the evening with Peter Lehner, it will be my honor to escort you. Just wear something with a high neck. The man's a terrible letch." He reached again for the note, but she held it away from him.

"Georg. I want a truthful answer from you."

Half smiling, he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Were you . . . I mean, did you and the B- _Elsa _. . . were you . . . ?" her voice trailed off.

"Were we intimate?" he asked gently.

She nodded, steeling herself for the response, but quickly relaxing as he responded.

"It wasn't like that with us, not really. We'd met years before, and we became reacquainted when I was in Vienna on business, about two years ago. I was still miserable, of course, but . . . well, you know all about that. It was worse when I was at home - the children, the memories. In Vienna I felt . . . numb, at least, and I began to look for reasons to go there more often. Elsa was wonderful company. We enjoyed some of the same things. I began to see that I would be able to find some kind of pleasure in life, I do owe her that. I was not looking for – er – passion, and I was certainly not looking to get married again. And she did not ask me for anything I could not give her. At least, not until the end."

Maria ducked her head, relieved, "I hope you don't mind that I asked, I just . . ."

Suddenly, Georg rose from the table, took her hand, and led her to sit beside him on the sofa. Apparently there was more to the story, and she felt a flicker of regret that she had asked in the first place.

"You know, Maria, it seemed at times like all Austria was conspiring to marry me off again. I told you that I never dared to hope for a second marriage that could equal my first . . ." he stopped to kiss her palm, and held firmly to her hand as he continued, "Elsa, bless her, never even hinted at marriage, not once, at least until I brought her to Aigen. But I had begun to wonder if it would not be more convenient, more _suitable_, if I married her. Even though there was nothing inappropriate between us, after all, how did it look for a man with five daughters . . . ," he shrugged, looking to gauge her reaction.

"So, I brought her to Aigen to meet the children. A mere formality, I thought. Not an hour had passed before you . . ." His lips twitched in a half-smile, "before you brought me face-to-face with the truth. That I'd been hiding from my children even though in the end, they were the only thing I had left of Agathe. That I would not be able to let go of her until I made things right with them. I should have known that was the beginning of the end for me and Elsa. Seven of them. And one bewitching governess."

She giggled, squeezing his hand. "I'm the _Baroness_ now, remember? It all worked out well in the end, and . ."

"Maria." he said, heavily. "I am not finished." She looked away, a feeling of dread beginning to uncoil in her belly.

"Several days after you . . . after the ball. . . " He paused. "Elsa and I - we went into Salzburg for dinner and . . . we spent the night there. The next night, I asked her to marry me. . . But the moment I tried to tell the children, I realized that wasn't going to work. You reappeared in that awful dress and well, you know the rest. I'm sorry that I have to tell you this." He held fast to her hand, his eyes searching her face for forgiveness.

Maria's eyes filled with tears. She raised an impatient hand to dash them away, shaking her head. "I don't care. Why _should _I care? You have been with – what? How many women? Dozens and dozens, if what people tried to tell me is true." She shocked herself with the bitter edge to her voice.

He ran his hand through his hair. "That is not entirely fair, but I suppose I deserve it. Yes, perhaps a dozen. Or – er - two. And if that is what really upsets you, well, I am not going to lie to you about it. But the truth is that my wicked reputation was largely earned while you were in pigtails. I was never the same after becoming a husband and father. Or rather, _I_ was the same, but I wanted something different from . . ." He shook his head and began again.

"Try to understand," Georg pleaded, the tone of his voice one she had never heard before. "I had lost everything in my life I cared about. I was undoubtedly going to burn in hell for lusting after the one person who had brought _real_ meaning back into my life, someone I had no chance of ever having, and then she ran away . . ."

"You are blaming _me_?" she demanded, pulling her hand from his, standing and backing away from him.

"Of course not! I blame myself. I should not have lost faith, should not have given up. I suppose I thought that if I went through the motions, perhaps the rest would follow. I hurt Elsa and now I have hurt you."

The room filled with an awkward silence. He remained seated quietly on the sofa, watching her. Maria said nothing, either, but closed her eyes, listening to the voices arguing inside her head, the young postulant she had been at Nonnberg, and the woman she had become.

_He promised before God to spend the rest of his life with you. What more assurance do you need?_

_He took another woman into his bed two nights before he asked you to marry him, a woman who warned you he will never be able to love anyone again! _

_But remember just last night, the way he cried out how he will never get enough of you? And afterward, how he cradled you in his arms, crooning gently in your ear until you fell asleep? _

_How do you know he did not do those things for her as well? _

_Stop torturing yourself, _she said, sternly.She looked directly into his eyes.

"You love me?" she asked.

"Always."

"What would you have done . . . if I had not come back?"

"By the time you came back, I already understood that I could only marry for love. I would not have married her. Perhaps . . . I would have tried to contact you. Or encouraged the children to. In any event, I would never . . ." he cleared his throat. "I would never have forgotten you."

Maria closed her eyes again. As though her tongue was prodding at a sore tooth, she tested out her feelings. _It was a shock, learning that he had been with Elsa, but then again, I asked him, and in some part of my mind, I must have known. And she was one among dozens._ Finally, she spoke.

"It's not my place to forgive you. After all, you could not have known that I would come back, that I would leave the Abbey for the chance to . . . Anyway. I can make my peace with it. You were right. I am the Baroness now. And your wife, and the mother of your children. We are bound together for life, and that's all that matters to me. Not what came before. Not for you and not for me."

Relief washed over his face. "The truth is not always beautiful, is it? It is frightening to think how close we came to losing each other."

"Georg?" She moved closer, pushing a lock of hair off of his face.

"Hm?"

"Would you really have, you know, tried to contact me?"

He pulled her into his lap, laughing. "Contact you? Another day or two, and I'd have mounted a white horse and charged into the depths of the Abbey, scooping you into my arms and escaping before even the most vigilant sister could stop me."

She giggled. "I don't think you'd have gotten away with it. And suppose I hadn't wanted to be rescued?"

"I'd have changed your mind quickly enough. Being rescued by a knight on horseback tends to do that."

"You are insufferably arrogant! How can you be so sure?" Maria teased.

"O-ho, darling. Let me show you exactly how!" he gloated, and his mouth covered hers.

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**This chapter was entirely inspired by a suggestion from lemacd, who also contributed some dialogue to the last chapter; thanks to her and the whole TSOM Facebook and Proboards communities. I don't own anything about the Sound of Music, I just love it!**


	6. Chapter 6: Georg's Confession

Chapter 6: Georg's confession

"_The time we are spending together here in Paris – the music, the people, the art, the food, and yes, the way we are alone together as well" – he gave her a half-smile – "is the only time we have to build a bond between us that is strong enough to withstand the storm_."

In the days that followed, Maria often thought back to what Georg had said that afternoon. She felt, sometimes, as though she could almost see the bonds being woven between them, growing stronger with every outing, every story shared, and especially with every magical night they were together. The distance between them – the worlds that separated them on the day they first met - seemed to shrink; she was less self-conscious about the difference in their ages and life experiences. The truth was that he _had_ lived almost half his life before she was even born, a life full of adventure, accomplishment and loss. There was no way she would ever be able to become part of his past. At the same time, she felt herself growing ever more confident of her place in the uncertain future that lay ahead for them.

One morning, as they lazed in bed, she ran her finger along the scar that ran under his ribs. "Georg, tell me about this one."

His response was open and matter-of-fact: "It was an explosion during an engagement off the Adriatic coast." He paused. "I lost ten men that day." His mouth tightened and his gaze grew remote. She gently squeezed his hand and waited quietly. Eventually, he sighed deeply and raised her hand to his lips in silent thanks. "There is no life without loss, I suppose. I am lucky to have been given this second chance."

Slowly, the sadness left his face and he wrapped his arms around her. "Now that you have finished _inspecting _me, why don't we get dressed and have some lunch? We've missed breakfast entirely, I think. And perhaps this evening, _I_ can inspect _you._" He kissed the top of her head, pushed himself out of bed and went over to the window, pushing aside the curtain and letting the bright sunshine wash over him as he surveyed the street below. "It's a beautiful day."

Maria thought she had memorized every inch of his body after their weeks together. But as he stood there, she noticed something she'd never seen before. Perhaps the late morning sunshine was unusually bright. Perhaps she had scars on her mind. But there it was – a web of silvery, broad lines across his upper back, extending past his shoulder blades on either side. It was very faint – it might not even have been noticeable were it not for the strong sunlight.

She came up behind him as he stood at the window, and traced the faint lines with her finger. "Georg? What's this one from?"

He stiffened and pulled away from her, moving away from the window. Long moments passed before he spoke. "It's nothing." He turned to her, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Nothing for you to worry about, Maria. I'm going to finish dressing now." And with that, he vanished into the dressing room. The next half-hour was spent in awkward silence, until, as they left the room, he kissed her cheek in silent apology, and asked her what she favored for lunch.

They did not speak of the incident again, and the day proceeded smoothly from there. But Maria could not ignore the scar of sorts left by the morning's awkward encounter, a small blemish on an otherwise lovely day. For a moment, she had been back there in the foyer, the day they met, utterly intimidated by an icy, haughty Captain. She simply could not bear, would not tolerate, even the small breach she felt between them.

It must have been bothering him too, because when they returned to the hotel late that night, the door to their suite had barely closed behind them when he was on her, kissing her, hungrily, urging her toward the bedroom, as though he, too, desperately needed to close the distance between them. Maria saw her opportunity. Screwing up her courage, and putting her hands against his chest, she pushed him back gently.

"I want to talk to you about something."

His hands dropped to his sides and he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"It's about this morning. Do you remember, Georg, what you said to me the first night – the first night we were - together? How I had to trust you, to hold _nothing_ back, that it would make things between us, er, so . . ." She swallowed. "And so I did. I've told you everything, the things I'm ashamed of, things I never told anyone else. And you were right – knowing that you know _all_ about me, that you love me still, well, it makes me feel like I can trust you with _anything_, even when you asked me to . . ."

She broke off, blushing, but regrouped. "Now _you _are holding something back from _me_, aren't you?"

He sighed in reluctant agreement. "Fair point. Fair point, Baroness." He looked her over, appraisingly. "Are you sure you're ready for the truth?"

"I'm listening," she said quietly, dropping into an armchair. Only one small lamp burned on the dresser, and as he paced the room, she could only catch glimpses of his face as he moved in and out of the shadows.

Georg was quiet for a long minute before he spoke. "Very well. You know, already, that I was sent away to boarding school at a very young age. We all were. That's just the way it was, for everyone. A school for sons of the finest families, boys raised in the lap of luxury, and all that."

He paused, and then resumed his pacing, speaking rapidly as though to end the ordeal as quickly as possible.

"It was brutal. There was not enough food, there was not enough heat, there were not enough blankets. We were forced to compete against each other for everything, all in the name of toughening us up. Of preparing us to take our places in society. Anyone who complained was left outside to sleep for the night, in any kind of weather. And yes, we were beaten. For anything. For wetting the bed." He turned to her with an apologetic half-smile – "little boys, you know. There are your scars, Maria."

"Oh, Georg, how awful, I . . . "

He held his hand up. "That was not the worst part. I was – well, I thought there had been some kind of mistake, naturally. I counted the days until the Christmas holiday. I was certain that when I told my father and mother about it, they would, you know . . . "

He paused again. "But they didn't. They patted me on the head, shrugged, and sent me right back. I was seven years old."

His tall, imposing figure gave no sign of the small boy who had suffered so much, but she ached for him. A somber silence filled the room until he was ready to continue.

"It got easier, of course. One can get used to anything. It probably did prepare me, in fact, for everything that came after. I left that school for the Naval Academy nine years later, and I didn't think about it again for years."

"But then . . . I met Agathe, and I wanted to marry her, really, almost as soon as I met her." His face grew soft for a moment.

"She hadn't quite agreed to marry me yet, but we were talking about it, you know, and, uh, it came to me, quite suddenly but with absolute clarity, that I really did not want to be a father. Something about that experience as a child made me shrink from the idea – being responsible for a child's well-being when no one had protected me? I don't know. I tried to talk to her about it one evening and . . . Well. You can imagine how that went over. She would not see me for a week."

"What could I do? I loved her. I wanted her_. _I _had _to have her. But who had ever heard of such a thing – a family without children? She must have thought I was insane. And there was the added complication that I would be leaving her alone for months at a time – I asked myself if it was really fair to . . ."

"Well. It took every ounce of charm I could muster toward her, _and_ her mother, several pieces of jewelry and many dozen roses to boot, plus a tongue-lashing from her father even after the box of Cuban cigars I gave him. But I did regain my place in her heart. And the next thing I knew, there were seven of them. Seven!"

He turned to Maria with a wry smile. "And I thoroughly enjoyed it. Agathe had had, well, this cozy English nursery upbringing, and the family life she created for us was more to my liking than the one I'd endured as a child."

Maria nodded, encouragingly. His recital had moved far beyond the scars on his back, but she didn't want to stop him. She held her breath, knowing what was coming next.

"I suppose that's why . . ." Georg resumed his pacing, "that explains what happened when she died. Just as I'd feared, I had failed to protect them against the greatest loss imaginable, at least for a child. And I had _no idea_ what to do with them. I thought about sending them away, of course, but I could not do that after my own experience . . . and well, I could not do that to her – to her memory. But I could not manage without her. I was just about to give up, when . . . "he stopped in front of where she sat.

She rose and moved toward him, but he held out a hand is if to stop her. "I do not want your pity. It was a long time ago. I have endured much worse. But you were right. If I want you to trust me, I need to trust you."

Maria stopped to weigh her words carefully before responding. It must have cost him a lot to tell her this story, to give up that final bit of control over his past.

"I don't _pity_ you any more than I want to be pitied for my childhood miseries," she told him. "I already knew that you were a brave man who has withstood great suffering with courage and has never stopped fighting. _That_ is not anything new to me. But it means a great deal to me that you . . ." she broke off, moving closer to him until she could raise her hand to his cheek, a fierce light kindled in her clear blue eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, curiously.

"Have you ever told anyone about this?"

"No one." His eyes narrowed. "You have all of me now, is that what you wanted?"

She smiled, gently. "Am I so wrong to want a piece of you for myself? You will always be my one and only, you know."

Georg nodded, pulling her into his arms. "Well, and now you have me. Whether or not you should. And that's enough talk for one evening, darling. It's time for bed."

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**A/N: I don't own The Sound of Music or anything connected to it. Please take a moment to leave me a review! One more chapter to go. **


	7. Chapter 7: The Mirror

Chapter 7: The Mirror

Their last morning in Paris, they woke early. They did not make love. In fact, they did not even speak. She lay quietly in his arms, and together, they watched the day's first light fill the room, and heard the muffled sounds from the street below gradually grow louder.

She thought back on the last magical month, trying to fix every moment in her memory, every place they had visited, every work of art they had seen, every block they had walked, every note of music they had heard. She stopped to linger on her memories of their first night together. They would be married for the rest of their lives, but she knew that they would never have another time together quite like this.

At last, he sighed deeply, kissed the top of her head, and disappeared into the dressing room. She rose then, too, and wandered around the bedroom, into the sitting room and back again, trying to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of these rooms where so much had happened between them. _The wedding may have been in the Cathedral, and the honeymoon may have taken us to every corner of Paris, _she reflected, _but the marriage - we made the marriage here. We will tell our family and friends about everything we saw and did during our time away, but they will never know about the memories we cherish most of all._

"Maria?"

He emerged from the dressing room, in a jaunty sport coat that belied the grave look on his face. The news from home should not have been a surprise, but it had left them both in shock, and anxious to return to their family.

"I'm going downstairs now. I'll settle the bill, have them change our train tickets, and I'll try to call home again, though I doubt I'll get through. The train is not for three hours, so you can take your time getting ready, and we'll have some breakfast. I'll send the man up for our bags."

He kissed her cheek, gently, and then he was gone.

She bathed and dressed quickly, packing a last few items into her trunk. _Nothing left to do but wait,_ Maria thought, wandering over to the window, hoping to enjoy the view of the square below one more time.

She was momentarily startled when, from the corner of her eye, she thought she glimpsed someone moving across the room. But then, laughing at herself, she realized it was simply her reflection in the large mirror over the dresser, the unfamiliar image of a woman somehow different from the girl who had scampered into this suite just one month before.

The woman in the mirror was beautifully dressed, in a tailored suit the color of autumn leaves that fit her perfectly. He had insisted on buying it for her, barking orders to the tailor in rapid, perfect French until it met his exacting standards. Her hair was growing longer – to honor a request she had wormed out of him one night. She moved more deliberately, more confidently, a woman who had learned what her body was capable of, of the pleasure it could give to her and the man she loved.

The woman in the mirror spoke in a lower voice, more thoughtfully, and less impulsively than the girl who came before. She could speak a bit of French and a few words of English. She had sampled patisserie, escargot, jazz and champagne. She had seen and heard many of the world's masterpieces.

She had fallen more deeply in love, if it were possible, with a man she had never heard of six months ago, whom she had bitterly detested five months ago, who had broken her heart three months ago. Now, she was as certain of her place in his heart as she was of the sun, moon and stars in the sky.

She still prayed every night, but now she was a wife and mother with many more blessings to thank God for, and no she longer fought her doubts about the best way to serve Him.

There were changes on the inside, too, she knew, changes the mirror could not see. She felt as though she had grown a new, tougher layer around her heart, to protect the things that really mattered, and to keep out the old hurts and losses.

And – the woman in the mirror blushed, that much had not changed - she had learned that while all babies come from the same place, there are dozens of ways to enjoy the act of making one. . . . or not.

A knock came at the door. "Madame? Votre mari m'a envoyé pour porter vos bagages."

"Entrez," she called. As the bellman busied himself with their trunks, she turned back to the mirror. For just a moment, she thought she glimpsed an awkward, fresh-faced girl in an ill-fitting gray dress and an ugly hat, grinning widely at her.

Maria lifted her hand in a half-salute. "Au revoir, Fraulein," she whispered. She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

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**A/N: Thanks so much for reading this story! I really loved writing it and thinking about Maria's gradual transformation. The reviews kind of dropped off there at the end, which I hope is just a sign that you are enjoying some summer fun! But please, do leave a review if you have a minute – it will inspire me during the tough early stages of planning out my next story, most of which will take place before the party. A thousand hugs to my friends on the Proboards forum and our FB page. And . . . . I love The Sound of Music, but I don't own it!**


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